


The Pros and Cons of Living with Ouma

by Lady_Anonymia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Although less so in this fic bc he loves Kiibo so much, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Iruma comes on a little too strong, Kiibo is a big adorable bag of feelings, M/M, Ouma is a little shit as per usual, more like dorm-estic fluff amirite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Anonymia/pseuds/Lady_Anonymia
Summary: Living with Ouma Kokichi isn't all bad, but it can be pretty hard sometimes.





	The Pros and Cons of Living with Ouma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClementineKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineKitten/gifts).



> Gifted to ClementineKitten for writing one of only three college!AU fics that I have ever enjoyed. They were the one who inspired me to write this!  
> Please,, take it,,, it's all I have,,

Kiibo often wished he'd gotten to know Ouma a little better before agreeing to share a dorm room with him. You wouldn’t think he’d need to—four years of high school together had ensured that Kiibo knew a frankly unnecessary amount of information about Ouma—but even that could not have prepared him for living in close quarters with the ex-Ultimate Dictator for a large portion of the year.

As if Ouma wasn't bad enough in public, he was a domestic nightmare. He was a hoarder and a slob, and although Ouma never had any trouble finding his own stuff in his mountains of junk, he had a habit of “borrowing” Kiibo’s things and throwing them somewhere until Kiibo was forced to clean everything to find it. Of course, it was all in vain: the piles of clothes, papers, and charging cables were back within the week, as if they’d never been moved.

Even if that weren't the case, Kiibo and Ouma were just...different. Kiibo was out of bed at 6:45 sharp, while Ouma stayed up till two in the morning and refused to get out of bed until noon. Ouma worked with a music livestream on at all times while Kiibo needed complete silence to focus. Ouma preferred being out at parties and get-togethers while Kiibo liked staying in the dorm and finding quieter ways to amuse himself.

Despite these differences, the two had been fairly close in high school, and their bond only strengthened through their living arrangement. Kiibo's sensitive nature had smoothed and softened Ouma's abrasive personality, and Ouma's wit had made the robot sharper, less awkward, and (somewhat regrettably) less naïve.

Kiibo thought they worked well together; that they complemented each other. And Ouma had his useful moments. But there was also a fair deal of drawbacks to living with Ouma.

_Pro: willing to keep people from hitting on me_

_Con: still really mean to Iruma_

“S’up Kiibo!” Iruma yelled, from across the quad where she was harassing a jumpy-looking freshman, and gestured to him to come over.

“Miu, you should really stop picking on the underclassmen,” Kiibo said, concernedly looking over at the freshman, who was shuffling away and visibly quaking.

“Whatever! It ain’t like those slugs matter anyways. Till they get to be juniors they’re all just bed-pissin’ virgins who—”

“What did you want, Miu?” Kiibo interrupted, looking at her with a small degree of impatience. Although Kiibo considered Miu a friend, her lengthy and explicitly-worded monologues had lost much of their shock value over the years.

“O-oh, uh...well, I was wonderin’ if...” Avoiding eye contact, Iruma wrung her hands and gnawed at her lips.

“If something is wrong, you shouldn’t feel too nervous to tell me,” Kiibo said reassuringly. “I’m your friend, after all. That’s what I’m here for.”

Iruma blushed and chomped on her hair. “So, um...w-well, I sort of, kiiiind of like you—(at this, Kiibo’s stomach dropped)—um, like, like like you, and...”

Miu looked at him hopefully, and Kiibo tried his best not to look completely floored. Although they were close, Kiibo wasn’t interested in Miu romantically at all. Dread at the prospect of having to turn Miu down began to settle in his chest: it was a choice which was guaranteed to go poorly for both parties.

“Excuse me, are you...trying to ask him out?”

Lo and behold, Ouma Kokichi had sidled up to them, planting himself in the middle of the conversation as he had a habit of doing. With him present, Miu immediately reverted to her more crass persona.

“So what if I am, ya fuckin’ gremlin? It’s none of _your_ goddamn business!”

“Nishishi, I beg to differ. Even if Kiiboy was interested in an ugly whore like you,” Ouma said sweetly, “he’s already dating _me_.”

“ _What!?_ ” Iruma choked, and Kiibo shot Ouma a wide-eyed, concerned, and very confused look. Ouma winked and sent him a look that Kiibo had learned to mean _Let me handle this_.

“It’s okay, I know how hard it must be for a dumb bitch like you to pick up on something so obvious,” Ouma smiled sympathetically, lacing fingers with Kiibo, “but yeah, Kiibo and I have been dating for a while. Like, a few months, I think?” He looked at Kiibo expectantly.

“U-uh, yeah, four or five months,” Kiibo stuttered, trying to keep up with Ouma’s train of lies.

“Wow, really? Time passes so fast, it feels like I asked you out, like, last week!” Ouma shrugged blithely, and turned his attention back to Iruma. “Anyways, that’s the deal, and unless you want me to sic all the assassins in my organization on you, you’ll leave him alone from now on, ‘kay?”

Miu, thoroughly put in her place, nodded meekly and crossed her arms, mumbling some choice words under her breath. Ouma, satisfied with his performance, wrapped an arm around Kiibo’s waist and escorted Kiibo away from the girl with a smug grin on his face.

“What was _that_?” Kiibo asked incredulously. Ouma’s hand had started to burn a spot where it rested on Kiibo's hip.

“Well, I couldn’t let her steal you from me, could I?” Ouma said, looking at Kiibo out of the corner of his eye. “I’d be a pretty bad boyfriend if I did.”

Kiibo sputtered. “What—what do you mean by _that_!? We’re not in that kind of relationship, and while I—”

Ouma snickered in his weird distinctive way. “I was lying, obviously. That’s not the real reason.” Ouma shook his head, seemingly disappointed that Kiibo had fallen for such an obvious falsehood. “You're obviously not interested in her like that. It was all over your face. And Miu’s not really the quitting type, is she?” Ouma looked Kiibo over. “There was no way you were gonna turn her down, and even if you managed to, it wouldn’t have been enough to keep her away. I’m just looking out for you, y’know? Pretty sure that’s what friends are for.”

Kiibo couldn’t deny that he was a little confused about Ouma’s approach to the problem—there were definitely ways that he could’ve scared Iruma off that didn’t involved lying about them dating, especially considering how scared of Ouma Miu was—but he was right about the fact that Kiibo wouldn’t have known how to turn Iruma down, so Kiibo was thankful for the save.

“Plus,” the shorter boy continued, crossing his arms, “if you started dating Iruma, you might start bringing her to our dorm room, and I don’t want her stink all over my stuff.”

“Will you stop talking about Iruma like that?” Kiibo protested. “I admit that she is...more vulgar than most, but she is still one of my friends, just like you!”

“I mean, _technically_ she’s one of my friends too, so it’s even more okay for me to treat her like she deserves to be treated. When she stops hitting on my best friend, I’ll treat her normally.”

Kiibo took a moment to process that sentence. “Am I...your best friend?”

Ouma looked at him incredulously. “You mean you’ve known me for seven years, been living with me for three of those seven, and you didn’t think you were my best friend?”

“Well, I think you’re my best friend, but I didn’t really know...if you felt the same way. I did not want to assume,” Kiibo said, blushing.

Ouma rolled his eyes. “Stop blushing, Kiiboy, you act like I just confessed to you or something. You know just as well as I do that I was a huge dick in high school.” Ouma rubbed at his arm. “You were, like, the only person who talked to me, y’know. And then we got to college, and you didn’t—you didn’t forget about me, so...” He stole a glance at Kiibo, who was very obviously very touched, and flicked him lightly on the forehead. “Blah blah blah, whatever. You’re obviously my best friend.”

Kiibo smiled, synthetic tears at the corners of his eyes as he was suddenly overcome with emotion. Ouma facepalmed. “Are you gonna start crying?”

A small sob escaped Kiibo as he hid his face in his hands, nodding vigorously. Ouma wrapped his arms around Kiibo’s shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. “Geez, you’re an emotional wreck. I was lying anyways; you’re, like, a casual friend at best.”

Kiibo sobbed harder, because he didn’t have to have his recently-installed lie detector activated to know that Ouma was saying the opposite of what he meant, and Ouma pulled him down so that Kiibo’s head was resting on his shoulder. The force of Kiibo’s spasms were making Ouma’s shoulder shake.

“C'mon, you big metal baby, let's go back to the dorms,” Ouma soothed, pulling him gently in that direction. “My rep is gonna take such a hit if we have a feelings jam in the middle of the quad.”

_Pro: can tie a tie_

_Con: probably cares more about Overwatch than me_

“Ouma, can you help me with something?” Kiibo called, slipping on a dark grey blazer and sliding the untied tie on his neck back and forth.

“Hm?” Ouma responded from the other room, sounded preoccupied. “Help with what?”

“Getting something on.”

“Ooh, sexy, but can it wait? Trying to deliver the payload right now.”

“I hate to interrupt your match,” Kiibo replied remorselessly, “but no, it can’t wait.”

In the other room, Ouma sighed dramatically. When Kiibo turned around, he was standing in the doorway, gaming headset on his neck and a blanket wrapped around his lower half like a skirt. Kiibo raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t wanna put on pants, leave me alone,” Ouma pouted.

“I did not say anything,” Kiibo replied, “but if you could help me put this tie on, I would really appreciate it.”

Ouma sighed. “You still don’t know how to tie a tie? This is, like, Being a Human Guy 101, Kiibs.”

“It is surprisingly difficult!”

“You need to just watch a YouTube tutorial or something, geez, ” Ouma tsked, gliding forward and taking the strip of fabric in his hands. “Who do you have to look like a hot piece of ass for anyways?”

Kiibo rolled his eyes. He was used to this kind of treatment, by which he meant the “overly flirty” kind of treatment. “I think that was a compliment, so thank you—”

“You’re very welcome.”

“ —and I have an interview for my robotics internship, which I told you about yesterday.”

“Oh, is that what you were talking about?”

Kiibo narrowed his eyes. “What else could I possibly have been referring to?”

“Dunno, I wasn’t even paying attention,” Ouma said, finishing the knot, “but you’re literally a robot, so there’s no way they won’t give you the internship. All this dress-up wasn’t really necessary.” Ouma slid the knot to Kiibo’s throat. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Ouma pulled lightly on the tie, bringing Kiibo’s face closer to his. He scrutinized the bright teal eyes for a moment, before smiling and tapping Kiibo’s nose lightly. Kiibo huffed amusedly.

Ouma stood back to admire his handiwork. “There ya go! Good luck out there, tiger. Knock ‘em dead.”

“Yes, I do intend to murder the interviewer, triggering a worldwide robot insurrection,” Kiibo deadpanned, and Ouma grinned.

“That’s the spirit! Just don’t forget about me when you go all Terminator, ‘kay?” Ouma peeked back into the other room and clicked his tongue. “Okay, you gotta leave soon, ‘cause someone _rudely_ interrupted me in the middle of my very important Overwatch tournament, and you have to be at the interview place by 3:30.”

“How would you know what time my interview was if you weren’t paying attention yesterday?” Kiibo asked, looking at him smugly.

“Did I say I wasn’t paying attention? Hm, must’ve been lying, then,” Ouma mused, as if he hadn’t said it less than five minutes ago. “But seriously, if you don’t leave now and there’s traffic on the way over, you’re screwed.”

“I’m going,” Kiibo said, already halfway out the door. “Thank you, Ouma.”

“Anytime, honey,” he called back. “Good luck at your interview.”

Kiibo hadn’t had time to dwell on the misplaced nickname before the thought was out of his mind.

_Pro: very affectionate drunk_

_Con: very affectionate drunk_

"Kiss, kiss..." Ouma pouted, hanging off of Kiibo's neck while Kiibo tried his best to pull him into their dorm without a tired RA or a suspicious administrator catching sight of them.

This was ridiculous. Ouma wasn’t even old enough to be drinking! Well, Kiibo guessed that  this was one of the unfortunate consequences of attending one of Iruma’s giant parties. As poorly as Ouma treated her, they both shared a love for drinking waaaay too much. Kiibo, being the responsible roommate and concerned friend that he was, had taken it upon himself to drag Ouma back home.

"I am not going to kiss you Ouma," Kiibo grumbled, flustered at Ouma's eagerness and angry with himself for feeling that way.

"But..." Ouma's eyes widened pitifully. "I thought—I thought that you liked me..."

"I do, but—"

"Yay!" Ouma hugged Kiibo's arm and kissed him on the cheek. Kiibo blushed.

"Come on, inside you go," Kiibo mumbled, managing to push him inside and close the door behind them.

“He loves me, he loves me,” Ouma sang, letting go of Kiibo’s arm so he could twirl around the room, and Kiibo was saved the predicament of having to confirm or deny that by Ouma spinning himself into a door frame. He groaned, stumbling backwards, and Kiibo managed to stop him before Ouma tripped over a stray cord or something.

Ouma looked up as Kiibo, his normally keen eyes clouded with alcohol and recent head trauma.

“You’re so pretty,” Ouma breathed reverently, the tips of his fingers dancing at the nape of Kiibo’s neck. “Your eyes are so...pretty.”

Kiibo took in Ouma’s features—cheeks a light pink from the alcohol and expressive violet staring at him like he was an angel— and thought that Ouma was even more gorgeous than himself.

“I am going to take you to bed, okay?”

“Are you gonna sleep with me?” Ouma asked hopefully.

“No, I cannot,” Kiibo said, almost regretfully, and Ouma’s face fell.

“Maybe another night?” he yawned.

“Maybe another night,” Kiibo conceded, knowing full well that he was the one who was lying for once. In the morning, Ouma would forget about this and everything would go back to normal.

Satisfied, Ouma allowed himself to be escorted to bed, clutching Kiibo’s arm tightly.

Of course, as soon as Kiibo entered Ouma’s bedroom, across a narrow hallway from his own, Ouma refused to leave Kiibo’s side.

"Let go of me, Ouma.”

"I don't wanna," Ouma whined, holding on tightly as Kiibo tried to slide him off.

"You have to go to sleep sometime.”

“No, I don't,” Ouma protested. “I could stay awake forever.

"Ouma, please."

"Will you kiss me goodnight? I'll let go if you kiss me goodnight."

Kiibo sighed resignedly, but he felt like he was minutes away from short-circuiting. "Yes, okay, alright."

Ouma, as promised, released Kiibo's arm, and flopped face first onto the bed. He turned over quickly, closing his eyes in anticipation.

If Kiibo had a heart, it would be beating out of his chest right now. Kiibo smoothed Ouma’s wild bangs and pressed his lips to Ouma’s warm forehead gently.

“Night, Kiibo,” Ouma sighed contentedly, turning over.

“Good night, Kokichi.”

The next morning, as Kiibo had predicted, Ouma had only a vague memory of what had happened the night before, accompanied by a raging hangover.

“Did I even do anything last night?” he moaned, still lying in bed with his arm over his eyes to keep out light.

“Not really, no,” Kiibo lied, blushing at the memory of Ouma’s innocent affection. “Stumbling and slurring, and making a fool of yourself, as per usual.”

“Ugh, how boring,” he sighed, trying to sit up and wincing. “I didn’t even do anything worth getting a hangover for. I wanted to do something exciting, like make out with a hot guy or snatch some girl’s weave or something.”

“Sorry to cut the fun short.”

“Heeeey, what are you blushing for?” Ouma asked, his eyesight exceptionally good even through the persistent headache that he must have had. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” Kiibo replied, face burning now.

“Sneaky, sneaky robot,” Ouma tsked. “You’re a horrible liar, but I’ll let you have this one. It wouldn’t be a very fun friendship if you didn’t have blackmail on me, too.”

“Wait, what would you blackmail me with?” Kiibo asked concernedly. In response, Ouma flopped back onto the bed, his laugh transitioning into a groan as his head bounced off the mattress. Kiibo was glad for the subject change.

_Pro: okay with hugs_

_Con: attention hog_

“Ugh, I’m so _boooored_ ,” Ouma grumbled, rolling around on the floor of Kiibo’s room. Kiibo had just come back from his afternoon classes, and now that he was here Ouma was even more bored than he had been when Kiibo was out. To make it even worse, Kiibo hadn’t said more than 30 words to Ouma since he’d gotten back an hour ago, and all of Ouma’s normal tricks hadn’t been doing any good.  
“What do you want me to do about that?” Kiibo asked, clearly in the middle of something.

“I dunno, entertain me or something.”

Kiibo rolled his eyes, flipping his phone from landscape to portrait mode. “I’m your roommate, not your toy, Ouma. You’re perfectly able to amuse yourself.”

“I could make a joke about you being a robot sex toy whose only purpose is to amuse me, but I’ll stop myself just this once. See? I’m getting over my robophobia every day.”

“I’m very proud of you,” Kiibo said absentmindedly, very involved with whatever was on his tiny glowing screen.

Ouma huffed. “Move your arms.”

Kiibo put his arms over his head, looking at Ouma expectantly, and Ouma crawled next to him and laid on Kiibo's side. Kiibo absentmindedly laid one hand on Ouma's waist, while the other busied itself scrolling through his phone.

"You suck ass and you're uncomfortable." Ouma said, trying to make himself comfortable on Kiibo's hard chest. He'd lost a lot of the plating he'd had in high school, but he was still a robot made of metal, and that made any physical affection with him a little stiff.

"Mm-hm," Kiibo hummed, still scrolling through something on his phone.

“Why aren't you paying attention to meeee?” Ouma whined, trying to look pitiful.

Kiibo ignored him. “Because I am reading an article in _The Atlantic_ and _you_ could be doing something else.”

Ouma had learned a lot about Kiibo over the years they had known each other, had discovered all the weird functions and the special sensors and flashy, glowing buttons. And although Kiibo still had yet to definitively answer whether or not he had a dick (his answers ranged from embarrassed and evasive to heavily suggestive) Ouma had managed to figure out the places on Kiibo where he was ticklish or...otherwise sensitive. While he couldn’t claim to understand why someone would make a robot react so strongly to touch, he was certainly going to take advantage of it.

Silently, he took a long finger, running it along where Kiibo’s ribs would be, and was rewarded with an involuntary hiss at the contact. The cold metal under his fingers begin to heat.  

"Ouma," he growled warningly, and Ouma grinned up at him.

"What’s wrong, Kiibaby?" Ouma said coyly, still lightly caressing Kiibo’s side with his fingers.

"Why do you insist on acting like this around me?" Kiibo huffed, trying to ignore the lingering pleasure of the touch.

"Acting like what?"

"Overly sexual!"

"C'mon, I do that to everyone!” Ouma hugged Kiibo tightly. “You just get most of it, since we live together."

“Due to the fact that a majority of our friends are shared, I know that to be a false statement.”

“Eh, well, you’re just special, y’know?” Ouma moved up Kiibo’s body. “I care about you a lot more than everyone else.”

Cue the pseudo-heart flutters again. Kiibo felt like he was getting static shock in his core processors. He admitted that he was becoming more distant from Ouma recently, but that wasn’t really intentional. Okay, it was intentional, but he wasn’t ignoring Ouma because he was tired of dealing with him or something. It was just...this weird feeling wouldn’t go away,and Kiibo knew what it meant, he knew that he was infatuated with his roommate, best friend, and possibly the worst person ever to have a crush on, Ouma Kokichi, and he didn’t really want to face that reality of his life. So he’d spent his time doing what he usually did—talking to friends on the quad, studying, researching anything that caught his fancy—while making sure to stay as far from Ouma as possible.

But now, Ouma had trapped him, literally, the warm weight of his body pinning Kiibo’s side to the bed, and his fingers were wedged in a gap between Kiibo’s shoulder and chest plates and it was sending sparks through the robot that he didn’t want to stop, and Ouma was shifting so that he was leaning on his arm looking down at Kiibo and his eyes were dark and searching and they started to drift closed as Ouma leaned closer and Kiibo was most definitely overthinking this and—  

And yet, it felt perfectly natural to him: laying with Ouma on top of him, kissing him lazily, and his own fingers laying on Ouma's waist, lightly holding him in place.

Kiibo should've stopped him but he didn't. He didn't want to, didn't want to lose the feelings that blossomed all over his body, wherever Ouma touched him.

Kiibo was still somewhat dazed when they broke apart, but he asked,"Why did you kiss me?"

Ouma gave him an inscrutable look.

"Why didn't you stop me?"

The question took Kiibo off-guard, but he refused to fall victim to Ouma's distractions this time. "Answer my question first.”

"Mm, fine." Ouma laid down on Kiibo’s side again, burying his face in Kiibo's neck. "It's cause I love you, you dumb robot."

"You...love me?"

"Obviously," Ouma mumbled, rubbing cheeks with the robot. "Amami told me I was being really obvious, too, but I guess he underestimated how oblivious you are.”

Kiibo took a moment to process that.

“Now you have to answer my question.” Ouma’s nose pressed into his cheek. “Why did you let me kiss you?”

“Um,” Kiibo hesitated, “uh, I...I really like you, Ouma. I have for a really, really long time...even since high school, I guess, and—”   

“You’re gonna start rambling, aren’t you?” Ouma said, his  a hand over Kiibo’s mouth. "I like you, too, idiot. Now shut up so I can sleep," Ouma sighed, and fell still.

_Con: I like him. As in, like like him._

_Pro: I think he likes me, too =D_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated and (as always) I hope you enjoyed the story! Although I feel like it's a tiny bit rushed, I love writing for Ouma and Kiibo so much, so I'm happy with it in the end.  
> I really should find a Tumblr blog to write shit for or something lol


End file.
